Three Days in September
by AllMadeofGlass
Summary: It's mid-September 2280. Over a year before they met, Beth Evans and Craig Boone walked very different paths and were very different people. Beth had become cynical and hardened by the Wasteland, then came to Zion. Craig had settled in dusty Novac with his pregnant wife, then that came to ruin. Originally published on AO3. (Courier!Lone Wanderer)
1. September 14, 2280

Zion Valley, Utah

September 14, 2280

The distinctive sound of gunfire cut through the previously peaceful morning air. By the time Beth realized what was happening and yelled, "Ambush! Get down!" to the rest of the group, it was too late. She dove behind a boulder just as a bullet pierced her sleeve. The two caravan guards in the front were already dead.

"I don't deserve this! My Pip-Boy don't even work!" cried a young man in a dirtied vault suit as he cowered on the ground. "Why the fuck you hire me?"

"Shut the hell up, Ricky!" a young woman said in a loud whisper as she fired her recharger pistol toward the incoming shots. "Might as well be waving at 'em!"

"Stop it, both of you!" Beth hissed. "Focus!"

The woman growled. "Enough of this! We're sitting ducks here! I was a sheriff once, goddamn it!" In blind fury, she charged forward and she shot wildly at the enemy, beams of red light blasting out of her weapon. The sharp metallic scent of energy weapon fire mingled with the pungent gunpowder already filling the air.

"Stella, no! Get down!" The other woman didn't stop and she was too far away to grab. Three shots caught her in the chest, tearing through her armor and into flesh, causing sudden eruptions of blood to spray outward. Too shocked to cry out, she staggered backward before her legs buckled under her and she collapsed into the dirt with a dull thud.

"Shit!" Beth spat, then took a moment to calm herself. She peeked out from behind the rock and fired twice with her rifle, hitting one of the enemy tribals in the stomach, which sent him toppling from the rocky cliff, a guttural scream cracking from his throat. " _That was sloppy,_ " she thought to herself. " _Focus. Two more._ " They yelled to each other in a language unknown to her and gave away their positions: one was up on the ridge, the other down below. Grabbing a rock from the ground, she threw it twenty feet to her right. As the area around the rock puffed up with the dust of it and gunfire, she quickly fired at the diverted enemy, the shot bursting through the tribal woman's chest. A look of shock swept over her painted face as she fell, letting out a final halted gasp. " _One more._ "

In the brief interlude, Beth took a moment to reload her rifle and listened for any sound that indicated a change in the last enemy's position. Although her heart was beating fast, her hands were steady and practiced; she had been trained by the best and mainly had him to thank for her continued survival. Besides, she had faced much more formidable opponents than this. It was all a matter of taking her time, staying focused, and forming a plan.

Creeping toward the edge of the cliff, she peered down at the last one and shot him in his nearly unarmored torso before he saw her. Skin ruptured in to a gaping hole as the bullet cut through him, making him roar in pain and collapse to his knees. Before he could raise his gun again, she fired twice more, each shot expanding the wound until blood ran from his mouth in choked coughs and he slumped onto his side.

The peaceful stillness filled the canyon around her, a faint sound of flowing water below nearly the only sound she could hear as she strained her ears to catch further danger. Nothing. The soft breeze began to clear the scent of battle from the air. Her heartbeat calmed as the adrenaline in her veins abated and she could now feel the drying in her throat from exerted breaths. There were some scrapes on her hands where she had caught herself as she dove for cover behind the boulder, but otherwise, she was unscathed. The bullet that had torn through her sleeve somehow missed her skin.

If she had been in the front of the caravan, would she have seen the ambush coming? Or would she have been the first to die? She couldn't help but wonder.

Slowly, she stood up and surveyed the area. "Oh..." she breathed, seeing she was the only one left alive. Stella was lying still in the dirt, fatally wounded and blood-soaked in her ruined armor, weapon still clutched in her hand. Beth put her hand to the woman's face and gently closed her vacant eyes. They had actually started to become friends, since they had a fair bit in common. She wondered how this woman had managed to survive so long being so fool-hardy.

Ricky was also lying on the ground, bullet wounds in his back soaking his blue vault suit into a sickly purple. She shook her head at the sight. From the second she met him, she knew he was a lying psycho addict who had probably never set foot in a vault in his life, but it wasn't her responsibility to stop idiots from getting themselves killed. They just end up finding a way to do it anyway once her back was turned. Besides, he had generously offered to carry some of her gear in exchange for not telling anyone he was a fraud.

She retrieved her belongings from his pack, as well as anything else useful, and added them to hers. The supplies from the brahmin yielded very little that would be useful to her other than a bottle of purified water. Even warm, the liquid was a welcome relief as it washed away the dust and cracks from her throat. She swished and swallowed a mouthful to clear the dry stickiness from her tongue. The scrapes on her hands weren't serious enough to waste a stimpak, so instead she poured the last sip of water over them to clear the dirt and blood, drying them on her pants.

Lacking a shovel, she had no way to bury her former traveling companions; even if she did have one, there was no way she could dig a grave for five people. She reminded herself that proper burial was a luxury most people didn't get these days. For a moment, she wondered if anyone would bother for her.

With the pack brahmin dead, there was nothing left to do but return to the Mojave. Yet when she looked up and across the valley, she was struck by the sight, having never seen such vivid colors in nature before. The scent in the air was sweet from flowering plants and brush she hadn't smelled before. Something drew her forward, deeper into the canyon.  
Up ahead across a rope bridge, she spotted another tribal, this one was dressed differently than the others. She approached cautiously with her rifle in her hands, but waited to see if he would attack before she fired.

"Hoi! White Legs don't leave survivors often," he called to her in clear English with a halting accent. "You're some kind of lucky, let me tell you. You came from outside, didn't you? From the civilized lands? Wow... Joshua will want to hear about this."

She studied him quizzically. Jed, the now deceased leader of their doomed caravan expedition, had told her specifically not to mention Joshua Graham to anyone at their destination. Was this the same Joshua, the former Legion second-in-command? Couldn't be.

"Who is this 'Joshua'?" she asked as she approached him.

"Joshua Graham-he leads our tribe. Thanks to him, the Dead Horses are strong, and safe from our enemies. He'll want to talk to anyone coming up from south-ways. Guess that means just you, now."

"Who are you?"

"I'm called Follows-Chalk."

"I'm called Elizabeth."

" _Elizabeth,_ it is good meeting you." Her name was heavy and clumsy in his mouth. "Come, I can take you to Joshua."

The tribal looked innocent enough and he hadn't tried to kill her like the others. With a nod and a feeling of curiosity, she reluctantly followed him.

* * *

Novac, Mojave Wasteland  
September 14, 2280

Brahmin steak and gecko eggs were his favorite. "Dinner for breakfast for you, breakfast for dinner for me," she said, which made him smile. Actually, everything she said made him smile, except when she would express how unhappy she was here.

He sat down across from her at their little table in the corner of the cramped kitchen and picked up his fork. The savory aroma made his mouth water.

"Ehem," she cleared her throat, looking at him sternly with her deep brown eyes. "Forgetting something?"

He smirked at her. "Grace?"

Shaking her head, she pointed to his head with a freshly polished fingernail. "Hat."

"Right." Still smirking, he reached up and pulled the red beret off his head, setting it down on the table next to him. He raked his dark hair back from his forehead with his fingers and picked up his knife to cut into the steak.

She scoffed. "'Grace.' You're going to need grace if you keep being such a smart ass." A little chuckle emitted from her tight smile.  
"Yes, mother."

Scrunching her face, she shook her head again. "Ugh, don't call me that. I _hate_ when couples start doing that when they have kids." She then let out a small squeak of surprise and put her hand to her swollen belly. "Oh, little Craig's awake."

"Little Carla, you mean," he corrected, taking a bite of the juicy meat. As always, it was perfectly medium rare.

Rolling her eyes, she sighed at him. "How are we ever going to decide on a name if we keep insisting on only those two? We have three more months to decide. Can we just agree to not name the baby after either of us?"

"I will make no such deal," he replied with his mouth full, which he saw on her face that she didn't appreciate. He loved how expressive she was, so honest and straight-forward. If she didn't outright tell him what she was thinking, he could always read it on her face. Other people in town didn't like it, though.

"Come on. I can't very well teach our children proper manners when you're talking and spewing bits of chewed brahmin all over the table, now can I?" She laughed, which made him smile again. "But seriously, I want them to be able to be as comfortable and welcome at the Ultra Luxe as they are at...Cliff's shop. That will give them options in life."

"I know, I'm sorry." They continued to eat their breakfast/dinner. "So, you get out at all today? Talk to anyone?"

She held up a finger to give herself a chance to swallow her last bite before she spoke. "No, I was busy."

"You said you'd make an effort to get to know people."

"I know. It's just...everyone is so old. Most of the women here are old enough to be my grandmother. They treat me like I'm a child." She sighed and pursed her lips. "That's even what Jeannie May calls me: 'child.' I hate that."

"She calls me that, too. I think she calls anyone under 60 that."

"Yes, but it's the _way_ she says it to me. Like I'm...I don't know. She's so condescending. Just because I've criticized some things about 'her' town."

"'Some things'?"

"Fine, a lot of things. I'm trying, though. Or I'm _trying to try._ " Her voice trailed off.

While she complained a fair bit, he could see that she had made some effort to make this place a home over the last few weeks. The curtains on the windows and cushions on the couch were newly mended. The kitchen was nearly spotless, the floor was swept, and the windows were washed. She had even planted a couple of banana yucca plants in the front yard. What she hadn't made much of an effort to do was being social with people in town.

"It would be easier if there were more people around here our age," she added. "If we weren't so isolated from everything. And if it wasn't so damned dusty all the time."

"What about Manny? He's not old," he offered, but she frowned at his suggestion. "What? What happened? I thought things were better lately." Setting down his fork, he waited for a response.

Still frowning, she took a deep breath and let it out quickly. "We got into an argument yesterday. I didn't tell you because I knew you'd get upset."

He scowled with frustration, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'll talk to him at the shift switch."

Putting her hand up to wave the idea away, she replied, "No, don't do that. You've been in the middle too often. I think that's making it worse. He just sees you taking my side."

"Of course I'm taking your side. You're my wife!"

"I appreciate that, but you confronting him isn't going to convince him that I'm not getting between you and ruining your friendship."

He groaned. "Fine." Finishing up the last bite of his food, he picked up his plate and placed it in the sink. "Thanks for dinner. I better get to my shift. I'll see you in the morning." He leaned over and kissed her tenderly on the lips.

Standing up with her own plate, she put it on top of his. Out of the refrigerator, she pulled out a small canvas bag, his "midnight lunch," and handed it to him. "Have a good shift. Be careful."

"I will." He turned to walk to the door.

"Craig? Forgetting something?" When he turned back to her, he saw his beret twirling on her finger. "Hat."

"Thanks." Taking it, he kissed her again, longer this time. "Love you."

She smiled sweetly at him. "I love you, too."

* * *

Zion Valley, Utah  
September 14, 2280

Beth cautiously walked into the cave, the young tribal following beside her. Inside was dimly lit by blazing torches and up on a raised rock platform sat a figure behind a desk, checking and repairing a sizable collection of handguns. He wore a black vest over a white cotton shirt, with bandages covering his head, neck, and hands. Piercing blue eyes were all that were visible of the man inside.

Follows-Chalk spoke up, "Joshua, I have an outsider from the civilized lands to the south-ways. _Elizabeth._ The White-Legs attacked her and the other outsiders." He shook his head sadly.

Joshua glanced up at them, then back down to his task. "We should have given you a better welcome on your first visit to Zion, but apparently the White Legs beat us to it." An edge of fatigue dampened his smooth, deep voice. "White Legs seem to be the only visitors we have these days, and I wouldn't have expected anyone from the Mojave to come looking for us."

"We weren't looking for you," the she corrected. "We were with the Happy Trails Caravan Company on our way to New Canaan. I'm all that's left of the caravan."

"I see. I don't know if you were close to the other members of your group, but you have my sympathy." Removing the magazine from one gun, he cleared the chamber, checked the barrel, then replaced the magazine, and put the weapon down. "I pray for the safety of all good people who come to Zion, even Gentiles."

 _Pray?_ She scoffed and commented, "If God were listening to prayers for safety, the world wouldn't have ended 200 years ago."

She saw his shoulders tense and he paused to look at her, clearly not used to being spoken to with such boldness. After studying her for a moment, he replied, "We can't expect God to do all the work. Man must take some responsibility."

He didn't sound like the ruthless and cruel legate she had heard about. The pile of guns, on the other hand, made it seem like he was preparing for war. "Is that what the guns are for?" she asked, staring at him in the eyes. Despite the man's reputation, she wasn't about to show submission. He was armed, but so was she. No matter what the myth said, he was a man of flesh and blood like any other; if it came to it, he would die like any other. The young tribal next to her didn't seem the type to turn a weapon on an innocent woman, regardless of his allegiances, so she didn't count him as a threat.

"Yes. This type of .45 Automatic pistol was designed by one of my tribe almost four hundred years ago. Learning its use is a New Canaanite rite of passage. Or was. New Canaan was destroyed, its citizens scattered. All because of the White Legs. And Caesar, of course." Strangely, he pronounced the name with a soft _c_ , rather than the usual hard _k_ as the Legion did. "The White Legs want to join the Legion. Caesar's rite of passage is the destruction of the New Canaanites, almost assuredly because of me."

This was all too surreal and whatever was going on here, she didn't want to get involved in anything having to do with the Legion. "That's unfortunate, but if that's all, I should be going."

He resumed his work. "Even though you made your way in, there's no easy way back. Without a map, you'll die in the wilderness. Daniel, one of our missionaries, can help you, but you've caught us at an...inconvenient time."

"Listen, I don't need a map. I can find the way back quite well on my own." Her Pip-Boy had recorded the path they had taken into the valley.

"There are only so many ways you could have entered Zion from the south. You descended by routes that you cannot safely ascend to return to the Mojave. I'm not telling you this as a trick. I'm sure Daniel will be willing to assist you, but we have other responsibilities at the moment."

" _Oh, here we go,_ " she thought with a sigh. "And I suppose you want my help?" she said, crossing her arms.

"The choice is yours, of course. Whether you want to help us or not, you can't get back without Daniel's assistance. He and I need Pre-War tools to help us navigate beyond Zion. Should we need to evacuate, these instruments will be vital to us. Normally, we would have some of the Dead Horses or Sorrows look for them, but many Pre-War buildings in the valley are 'taboo.' They won't go inside."

She wasn't sure she should be helping him, but he already had a full arsenal of guns. What harm could some navigational equipment do? "Fine. I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you. Follows-Chalk can help you find your way around the valley. He's inexperienced, but he knows enough of our language to ignore his tribe's taboos."

The tribal motioned to her to follow him and she complied with a frustrated sigh.


	2. September 15, 2280

Novac, Mojave Wasteland  
September 15, 2280

The night watch had been quiet with only a few geckos passing by the nest. Boone stretched and stifled a yawn.

It was just after midnight and his stomach was starting to rumble, so he opened up the lunch bag Carla had given him. Pulling out a container of leftover noodles from the previous night, he ate as he continued to scan the darkened desert. The meaty sauce was slightly spicy from the jalapenos, the heat pleasantly building up on his tongue. More than once, he had told her that if he'd known what a great cook she was when they met, he'd have proposed on the spot.

The thought of her made him smile. He didn't care what she said, he was sure they were going to have a girl and she was going to be as beautiful and intelligent as her mother. He could teach her how to use a rifle and how to survive in the desert. With the traits and skills from both of them, little Carla would be able to go anywhere and do anything. She would be the best of them.

He returned the empty container to the bag and let out a heavy sigh as the monotony of his work made his mind wander away from his domestic contentment.

This life was more than he ever could have hoped for and far more than he deserved, he knew. When he was with Carla, he focused on being a normal husband and father-to-be. The things that he had seen in the army and the things he had done could be pushed to the back of his mind. Here alone at night, however, it was hard to keep his thoughts from drifting back to those dark places, places he never talked about with anyone. In the quiet of the cooling night, he could almost hear it all echoing in his ears. In the blackness outside through the teeth of the nest, the faces stared back at him, knowingly.

Blinking them away and instead concentrating on the flat gray road, he tried to remind himself that it was war and orders were orders. Maybe he should have talked to that doctor at Camp Golf like Major Dhatri had so strongly suggested, but he didn't like the idea of trusting a stranger with his inner demons, especially one that could have had him bumped down to desk duty if he said the wrong thing.

Even though they had served in the same unit, it wasn't possible to talk to Manny about it. He hadn't been there for the worst of it, for the truly unforgivable things. He couldn't talk to Carla about it, either. She knew he had nightmares, but didn't know how frequently or what they were about. Part of him wanted to tell her, but he couldn't risk tainting the only part of his life that truly made him feel like living.

No, it was better to focus on life now, to try not to take it all for granted.

Hours went by and he checked his watch. It was time for the shift-change. He exited the nest with his rifle slung over his shoulder.

Outside the dinosaur that served as the town's shop and sniper's nest, he met Manny on the steps.

"Mornin'," the daytime sniper greeted. "Shift go okay?"

"Morning." He wanted to say something to him about the argument with Carla, but Boone stopped himself, since she had specifically asked him not to. They needed to work out things for themselves and he had to give them a chance to. "Things were pretty quiet. Nothing to report."

"We still on to listen to the game on the radio tonight? Starts at 7. I got Andy to cover the last of my shift and the first of yours."

He nodded. "Yeah, lookin' forward to it. You can come over to our place. Carla offered to make snacks."

Manny's eye twitched slightly at the mention of her name. "Sure, man. I'll bring the beer. See you then."

"Have a good shift. See you tonight."

They grasped hands with a shake and parted. As he walked through the dusty gravel courtyard, Boone hoped that his friend and his wife could somehow find a way to at least co-exist. The two most, and really _only_ important people in his life couldn't get along and it tore him apart.

Why couldn't others here see the good in her the way he did?

Boone wasn't blind to his wife's failings. She could be abrasive and abrupt. Tact was not something she was capable of and she didn't care to attempt it. Years of living a protected and privileged life had made her kind of snobbish. But he loved her, deeply. He knew she loved him, too. Why else would she have agreed to marry him and then come here to this dusty Wasteland settlement where she knew no one?

Life in Vegas would have been hard, too. It was an expensive place to live. His savings and modest pension from the NCR army covered their deposit on the house here, but that was about it. His work as the nighttime sniper paid for the rest; he didn't think he was qualified to do much else. They were far from being able to live a decent life in Freeside and especially New Vegas. Few people were.

He wondered if they should have more strongly considered going back to New California, back to his home town. There were a lot of things he didn't want to deal with there, but maybe it would have been a better place to raise a family, one where Carla could have been happier.

Passing the motel lobby, he made his way around the old building, up the dusty, broken road to their little house. As he approached the gate, he saw the mailbox had fallen over—no, it had been kicked over. With a frown of confusion, he picked it up and leaned it against the fence. Pulling out his keys, he put one into the front door lock with a turn, but it didn't click. It was already unlocked. Pushing the door open, he called out, "Carla?"

Inside was ransacked. The coffee table was overturned, books and magazines strewn over the threadbare carpet. In the bedroom, the blankets were pulled off the bed and half onto the floor with a broken pieces of pink fingernails buried in them. The cup she kept on the nightstand had been knocked over and shattered, water darkly soaking the carpet. Their small wedding picture looked like it had been thrown against the wall with its glass in pieces on the floor.

His heart pounded in his ears and his breathing was quick and shallow. "Carla!" he cried out through his tightening throat.

Boone frantically searched the small bungalow, looking for any clue, any trace to tell him who had taken her and where they had gone. Then there, under some strewn papers on the living room floor was a small gold coin with a bull on one side. His stomach wrenched. " _The Legion._ " It must have fallen out of one of their pockets in the struggle.

Clutching it in his hand he ran out of the door and at a full sprint toward the motel, up to the nest, shouting, "Manny!" He had to get Manny. They needed to find her. His rifle beat against his back as he blew by Cliff in the gift shop, nearly knocking him over. He bounded up the steps to the nest and threw open the door, causing his friend to whirl around with wide eyes.

"Hey man, what's up?" he asked, startled.

Doubled over and gasping, Boone managed to get out, "Carla...Carla's gone." Before he could say more, he saw the look on his friend's face: his eyes brightened and his mouth twisted, like he was trying not to smile. "You son of a bitch!" he spat out, his face contorting in anguish and disgust. Without another word, he charged back down the steps.

"Hey, man! Wait!" Manny called after him, but it was too late.

Back at the house, Boone grabbed his pack out of the closet. " _Think, think, think, think, think!_ " he said to himself. From the top dresser drawer, he pulled out his NCR Army survival kit with his compass and utility knife and threw those into the bag. The kitchen yielded a couple of water bottles, some preserved food, and the small medical kit they kept on-hand. He whirled around, thinking what else he needed, his mind and heart racing. The side pocket of his canvas pants held his spare ammunition and he wished he had more, but he wasn't going to go back to the nest to get it from Manny. He picked up his aviators from the living room floor and put them on. Slinging his pack over his shoulder next to his rifle, he hurried out of the house.

There was no way of knowing how much of a head start they had or where exactly they had taken her. Heading east was all he could think to do. As he passed by the dinosaur, he faintly heard Manny yelling his name, but he ignored it and charged down the road towards Nelson. They wouldn't have passed directly through there, since they would have been too easily noticed in a town full of NCR, but if he could travel along the river, he might see where they were crossing into Legion territory.

The road was quiet in the warm morning sun. The increasingly sickening feeling in his stomach was hard to ignore, but he pushed himself to focus on getting to the river. All his previous experiences with the Legion filled his head. He'd seen plenty and read reports that were even worse. "Don't think about it. Don't think about it," he whispered to himself, but there was nothing else to think about. There was nothing else in the world except Carla and getting to her.

" _She knows I'm coming. She knows I'll find her,_ " he thought. It was a small comfort to know she would have some hope.

Reaching the river, he surveyed the area through his scope, but he couldn't see any sign of them. He was at a disadvantage, being only half of a team. " _I need Manny,_ " he thought with despair, then corrected himself, " _No. You can do this. You don't need him. You can do this._ "

* * *

Zion Valley, Utah  
September 15, 2280

After they finished retrieving the items Joshua and Daniel needed that morning, as well as returning a bighorner calf to his mother, Beth sat with Follows-Chalk by the stream eating a piece of banana yucca as she took in the sites of the valley. It was like nothing she had ever seen before in all her travels; she could see why it was named after the most holy place on Earth. The air was crisp and clean, fresh from the morning rain. Beautiful and unique trees and flowers grew here. The water was so clean and pure that it glistened, which made her heart ache.

 _I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end. I will give unto him that is athirst of the fountain of the water of life, freely._

How easy and clear that all sounded.

She still wasn't sure she needed Daniel's map to get her back to the Mojave, but there was a chance Joshua was right about that. With no desire to get lost out by herself with a tribe of murderous wannabe legionaries roaming around, she had reluctantly decided to help. Besides, it gave her an excuse to stay a little longer in this beautiful place.

" _Elizabeth?_ " Follows-Chalk spoke up, still struggling a bit with the sound of her name.

Rising the remains of the sticky fruit off her fingers, she let them trail a bit in the water and replied, "You can just call me Beth, if you want."

"Ah, Beth, dank ni," he replied in thanks. "In the civilized lands outside Zion, is there really a giant thunder-lizard people live inside?"

She shook the water off her hands. "Thunder lizard? You mean like a dinosaur? Sort of. I know of one, but it's just a shop."

"You've seen it?" he asked in awe.

"Passed by a few times. The motel charges too much."

His eyes were wide with a curious fascination. "What is a 'motel'?"

As he leaned in closer, she pulled back to maintain the space between them. "Uh, it's a place where you pay for a room to sleep when you travel." She was growing tired of his questions. It seemed like every few minutes he had another. "What's with this obsession you seem to have with 'civilization?'"

With a broad smile, he replied, "When I was a boy, a man came through the valley with one of the caravans. Tall man, big mustache, carried a guitar. I asked what he did for his living, and the interpreter told me he was a singer. 'What is that?' I asked. The man explained that he went from place to place and sang for people, who gave him food and shelter and care in return. I couldn't believe that there was a place in this world where a man could do that. I promised myself then that one day I'd explore that world myself."

"There's a lot more to 'civilization' than that. Most people don't live that kind of life."

"Joshua keeps saying it isn't paradise out there, but how can it not be, compared to this?" He shrugged and gestured around.

She looked at him incredulously and gave a small laugh, "You must have a very different idea of 'paradise' than I do."

"Now you sound like Joshua. He always tells me the tribal life is better, that I should stay here and forget the outside world." He frowned.

Earnestly, she stared him in the eyes. "He's right. Trust me, Follows, I've seen more of the so-called 'civilized world' than most people and I can tell you that there's no future out there for you. Those of us from 'civilization' don't call it that. We call it 'The Wasteland' because that's what it is. _Waste._ There's little more than decay and death out there. You should stay here with your people. You're better off and you have a duty to them."

His head drooped and his shoulders sagged. "I see. Well, thanks for your telling. I'd like time alone to think about this. Dank ni." With sadness in his eyes, he stood and looked around the camp before walking away.

Beth felt a little bad for crushing his dreams so harshly, but it had to be done. Snippets and stories filtered through his own experience gave him a strange perspective, unique and oddly charming, but one that wouldn't serve him long in the Wasteland. He had no real concept of what the outside world was actually like. If he thought it was difficult to survive here with his people, he had no idea what "difficult" really was. She envied him his ignorance and innocence, yet didn't, at the same time. He longed for a life he could never have-a life that didn't exist.

A little while later, she heard a low voice behind her. "Follows-Chalk told me you spoke with him about staying." She turned and looked up to see Joshua standing there. "Thank you, Elizabeth. I would have, but I'd rather not influence him more than I already do."

With a frown, she shook her head. "The Wasteland would chew him up and spit him out. If he did manage to survive, it would change him, and not for the better." Pausing, she stared at his bandages and wondered how badly he was burned underneath them. "Look what it did to you."

"Indeed." He sat down next to her. "I wanted to ask you to speak to Daniel for me about the situation with the White-Legs."

"Why me?" Her arms crossed over her chest.

"Daniel and I don't agree on everything, but in our hearts, we both want what's best for the Sorrows and Dead Horses. Daniel believes that if we leave, if the Sorrows leave, the White Legs will stop. He doesn't understand what this kind of tribe is like. You've seen what they do, and I think you know what has to be done."

"I think the Sorrows and Dead Horses should stay and fight. If they leave, what's to stop the White Legs, or the Legion, or someone else from chasing them from their next home, or the one after that. Eventually, they'll all be slaughtered or enslaved. No, they should make their stand here where they know the land. It's their best chance."

"Yes. Daniel and I both desire a non-violent solution to this problem. Where we differ is that only one of us believes it is possible. He does not yet see things the way we do."

"He is the John to our Matthew and Mark?" she commented with an edge to her tone.

His brow flicked in slight surprise. "You know your scripture. Based on your earlier sentiments, I would not have expected that." Looking into her eyes, he asked, "What caused you to lose your faith?"

"I could ask you the same thing," she retorted. "After all, the Malpais Legate certainly didn't sound like a man of God. More like a man possessed." She took a moment to remember something. "'For he said unto him, Come out of the man, thou unclean spirit. And he asked him, What is thy name? And he answered, saying, My name is Legion: for we are many.'" The words came out smoothly from her memory, as though she were reading them.

"Gospel of Mark. I know that passage well." He sighed. "This way lies the path to hell. Edw-Caesar needed me to translate. Translation became giving orders. Giving orders became leading in battle. Leading in battle became training, punishing, terrorizing. A series of small mistakes before a great fall."

To her ear, his voice was more resigned than remorseful. It all sounded so easy, like it was almost inevitable, something that happened _to_ him rather than something he chose. "Did you ever question what you were doing? What you had become?"

"Clearly, not as much as I should have." Beth restrained herself from scoffing at the answer. "I stayed in that darkness until after Hoover Dam. After I failed Caesar and he had me burned alive, thrown into the Grand Canyon."

"How _did_ you survive?"

"I survived because the fire inside burned brighter than the fire around me. I fell down into that dark chasm, but the flame burned on and on. The next morning, I woke up and crawled out of the northern edge of the canyon, that cursed place. It took me three months to reach New Canaan."

"They took you back? After everything?"

He nodded. "It was as though the prodigal son had returned. They welcomed me like I had never left, never done anything to shame them. The fire that had kept me alive was love. Their love. God's love. I will never be able to repay the debt I owe to them, but I must try." Taking a moment to study her, he asked, "And what about you?"

Letting out a thoughtful hum, she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "My father was quite religious. Both my parents were, although my mother died when I was too young to know her. I had a pretty sheltered childhood." She laughed slightly at the understatement. "Read the Bible quite a bit and thought I had things figured out, thought I knew what my life was going to be. I didn't know what the Great War had done to the world, didn't see it with my own eyes, anyway, until I was older. Then I saw how godless it was, saw true monsters, saw what people were capable of doing to other people."

"The Legion?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No, not them. I hadn't even heard of the Legion until a few years ago. Fortunately, I've largely been able to avoid them."

"That _is_ fortunate."

Staring out into the distance, she continued, "For a while, I thought I could make things better. That I could make a difference, but the monsters kept coming. Different ones. More and more. I lost everyone and everything that was important to me. Why would God let that happen? Unless there was no God?" She shrugged. "Or maybe He's just given up on us because we've disappointed Him so many times." He started to reply, but she interrupted him. "And before you bring up the 'prodigal son' again, I doubt his father would have been as forgiving had the son come back and burned the house the way the Great War did the world. Like you said, man must take some responsibility."

Joshua's eyes narrowed at her words. "Whether there is a God or not, His existence doesn't depend on what you believe or what I say. You may not be concerned over matters of faith, but this is a case where faith and practicality coincide. No one wants the White Legs here. We just need to convince Daniel destroying them is the only way to ensure the Sorrows can remain in Zion. When you have a moment, please speak with him."

"Alright. I will, but I don't think he's going to like it any better coming from me."

"God be with you."

At that, she did scoff.


	3. September 16, 2280

Mojave Wasteland  
September 16, 2280

Boone traveled through the day and night. It had been more than 36 hours since he slept, but he couldn't stop. Only recently discharged from the NCR Army, he was still used to long treks and times of little sleep, but this pushed him beyond the edge of his endurance. He had found some jet in an abandoned raider camp, which kept him alert and moving beyond his normal threshold. Even if he wanted to sleep, he knew there was no way he could, not until he found her. Traveling along the cliff above the river, he kept moving southeast.

Eventually, he came upon a what looked like it used to be some kind of town or camp on the bank of the river. Red figures swarmed through the area like ants on a dead brahmin. " _Legion. Fuck!_ " he said under his quickened breath. He had expected a small raiding band, which would have been enough of a challenge given his fatigued state, but this was much, much larger.

Dropping his pack and laying on his stomach, he scanned the crowd through his scope. There were so many of them. Amid the soldiers, there were several others dressed in varying sorts of ragged clothes: "captures" as the Legion called them. They would be slaves soon enough.

Then he spotted a blonde woman in worn pink pajamas, holding her swollen belly as protectively as she could with her bound hands. Tears were streaming down her dirtied face, but he could tell she was trying to hold them back and be brave, her mouth tight in resolve. " _Carla,_ " he whispered with quivering lips. A legionary had a firm grasp on her upper arm and was dragging her forward up some steps to where some other captures were standing on the balcony of a wooden building. Legionaries and others below raised their hands one by one. " _It's a fucking auction._ " A growing lump in his throat made him feel like he was suffocating.

The cold reality of the situation was biting through him. He had intended to rescue her, but now he saw that there was no way. It seemed that there were hundreds of them, all armed, and he was alone. Even getting close to her would be impossible, never mind being able to get them both out alive. There was no choice. If he waited too long, they would take her where he couldn't follow and he couldn't leave her to that.

As she was brought up in front, one of the legionaries gestured to the crowd, then to her and her belly. She was holding herself straight and tall even as her body shook and tears ran down her cheeks.

A numbness enveloped the sniper's whole being as his training took control. His hands steady on his rifle, his mind cleared and his breathing calmed. Taking careful aim, he felt his finger bend over the trigger and pull against the cold metal.

Carla dropped in an instant as the bullet cleanly pierced between her deep brown eyes. The entire camp erupted in chaos. The legionaries reached for their weapons and quickly looked around, trying to figure out where the shot had come from. Some of the captures fled and others cowered.

Boone then did what his training told him to do in that moment: he ran. Scrambling away from the cliff edge, hand still gripping his rifle, he tore through the desert, away from the Legion, away from what he had just done. He didn't know how far he had gone, but he ran until his legs gave out and he fell to his knees, his rifle and beret falling into the rocky sand.

Suddenly, there was a wrenching in his abdomen and he vomited up the small bit of water that was in his stomach and he kept retching until he tasted bile. He gripped the sand with his hands and it crumbled away in his grasp. "You fucking coward!" he cursed himself through sobs, tears falling from his eyes onto the dry earth as he gasped for air. It was like he was drowning and only able to get small breaths that were barely enough to keep him alive. Each tiny gasp pulled him back from the edge of death. Breath to breath. Heartbeat to heartbeat. Moment to moment.

There was no one. He was all alone. She was gone. Their child gone, too.

He let out another sob as his heart wrenched in his chest. He wanted to die there, to waste away into the sand, but he couldn't. Something stopped him: he didn't deserve to go with them. He was why they died. This was a punishment for the horrible things he had done. It was his fault. His fault. He killed her. He killed their baby. Killed them like he had killed so many others. Bending over and burring his face in his sand-covered hands, he wept, shaking in overwhelming guilt and agony. " _I'm so sorry, Carla...please...,_ " he pleaded, but there was no one there to hear.

He stayed there for what felt like hours in the oppressive quiet of the still desert.

With a few deep breaths, his mind started to clear and he had a realization: the Legion didn't operate like this. If the Legion came, they took the whole town, not just one person in secret, even if she was the wife of an NCR First Recon sniper. No, someone set this up, someone who knew the town and knew when he would be on shift. His grief and guilt began to form into a new and growing rage.

But who?

In spite of himself, his first thought went to his best friend. Manny had always hated Carla and wanted her gone, but could he have really done something so horrendous? Then he recalled the look on his friend's face when he stumbled into the nest and told him she was gone. The thought almost made him sick again.

There was still one thing left, one thing to keep him going: find out who did this. He retrieved his beret and rifle from the ground, then stood up.

The tears slowed and the hot desert breeze began to dry his face as he walked the long trek back to Novac.

Zion Valley  
September 16, 2280

Joshua aimed his gun between the eyes of the White-Leg's tribal leader who was kneeling in the glistening water. "We warned you at Syracuse, and you persisted. You took advantage of us at New Canaan to drive us out, and like the dogs of Caesar you are, you followed us to Zion. And now you stand on holy ground, a temple to God's glory on Earth. But the only use for an animal in our temple is sacrifice! Kale watcha nei conserva oh! You understand me, don't you? Don't you?!"

Salt-Upon-Wounds didn't respond, he only cowered and tried to shield his head with his hands. Several of the Sorrows and Dead Horses stood around watching, the rest of the White Legs having been vanquished. The bodies of fallen tribals from both sides were strewn through the canyon, their blood tingeing the waters around them red.

"Joshua, stop!" Beth shouted, her feet splashing through the stream as she ran toward them. "You've already won. Look around you. There's no need to kill him."

He remained focused on the frightened man before him. "He has a debt to pay for what he's done and I've come to collect."

She couldn't see his face behind his bandages, but his eyes and voice were full of rage and disgust. Despite his words of God's glory, she could see clearly that this was a glimpse of the Malpais Legate, dark and brutal. There was nothing holy about what he was about to do. "Not like this. If what you believe is true, he'll pay for it later." Reaching out, she put her hand on his as he gripped the pistol and looked into his eyes. "The Sorrows don't need to see you do this." They had already seen too much death in battle that day, they didn't also need to see an execution.

Cold eyes stared back at her. "I want to take from them what they took from me, from my family. In this life. I want them to suffer. I want all of them to die in fear and pain. I want to have my revenge. Against him. Against Caesar. I want to call it my own, to make my anger God's anger. To justify the things I've done." His gaze softened and his voice faltered slightly, turning more sad than angry. "Sometimes I tell myself that these wild fires never stop burning. But I'm the one who starts them. Not God. Not them. I can always see it in my mind. The warmth and the heat. It will always be a part of me. But not today." Letting his hand fall to his side, he turned to Salt-Upon-Wounds. "Go. Get out of here. Go back. Back to the Great Salt Lake."

The tribal looked up at him, then clamored to his feet, splashing through the water as he ran through the canyon and away from Joshua.

"That's it. It's finished," he said, relief filling his voice as he watched the tribal run. Setting his weapon into it's holster, he looked to Beth. "Let's go find Daniel. Tomorrow will be here soon. And there is much to do."

* * *

A light sprinkling of rain fell as the Dead Horses and the Sorrows solemnly celebrated their victory, as well as mourned their fallen tribesmen and women. Beth sat on the bank of the stream, staring out at the fading light of the sun over the towering rock. The feeling of rain on her face felt like something was being washed away from her, leaving her light and clean.

She heard footsteps in the sand approach and someone sit down next to her. "Here, I want you to have this," Joshua spoke as he held out his pistol to her in an open hand and she turned to look at it. She started to refuse, but he stopped her. "I insist. As a thank you for...staying with me. I couldn't have done this on my own. You've reminded me that with justice must come mercy."

Taking it, she examined the .45 in her hands, running her fingers over the snakeskin grip and looking at the engraving on the barrel. "What does this writing mean?"

"It's Greek. Translates to 'And the light shineth in darkness, and the darkness comprehended it not.'"

"Gospel of John."

He nodded. "Among other sources, yes."

"Thank you." She added it to her bag. "I should get to sleep since I'll be leaving early tomorrow."

"You could stay. There's a place for you here," he offered, his deep blue eyes looking into hers.

She felt something in that moment that made her want to accept, but pushed it away quickly, reminding herself who this man was, who he had been: as much as monster as any other she had ever seen. The fire may have tamed him and turned him to the light, but he was forever tainted by the darkness inside. She was not the person to help someone else fight their darkness, having too much of her own to contend with.

"I don't belong here," she said with a sad smile. "I have too much of the Wasteland in me."

"What will you do now? Go back to guarding caravans?"

Shaking her head, she sighed. "No, I'm done with that. I think I'm better off working alone."

"'No man is an island entire of itself.'"

With a raised eyebrow, she replied, "You've stumped me. I don't know that one."

"It's a 16th century poem by John Donne."

She smirked with a laugh. "I guess even you like to have a little fun once in a while."

His laugh was restrained and low, but genuine. Reaching into the bag next to him, he pulled out a book and held it out to her. "Take this with you, as well."

Looking at the cover, she shook her head. "Scripture? No thank you." She pushed it back to him gently. "Not really my brand, anyway."

"Take it. You may have a change of heart," he said softly, but insistently.

Reluctantly, she grasped the book and slipped it into her bag.

* * *

Epilogue

Zion Valley, Utah  
September 17, 2280

Beth took a deep breath of the clean, crisp morning air, as she turned back toward the valley, wishing she had found a place like this sooner, before so much had happened. If she had, maybe she could have stayed and found her place, built a life. She reached into her bag for the map and found it had slipped inside the book of scripture Joshua had given her. Taking it out and flipping through the pages, she was surprised to see it was full of underlined passages and notes in the margins. She took out the map and returned the book to her bag.

With one last look at the rising sun, she turned and walked through the rock passage toward the Mojave.


End file.
